


poetry in your body

by onekingdomonce



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Rimming, The Summer Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/pseuds/onekingdomonce
Summary: “You would enjoy it.” The scrape of stubble tickled Laurent’s neck, like the dew droplets beneath their feet as they walked in the gardens the previous morning. “I want to show you, if you’ll let me.”





	poetry in your body

**Author's Note:**

> so this happened

Laurent woke that morning slowly, like tendrils of hair coming undone from a clip, like rose petals picked from a stem and falling to the ground in a gentle spring breeze. 

That was new; how Laurent curved his back in a way that pulled each muscle, stretching his body as he reveled in the feeling of fresh sheets against his skin and the wash of the early morning sun, streaming in through the open windows and bathing the bed in warmth. Laurent was not someone to luxuriate in the slow process of coming awake, but he had also never been the kind of person to turn over onto his side so he could watch someone else sleep.

It was their third day in the summer palace, though he was sure that if Damen were awake he would make some stupidly sentimental comment about how the days were all blending together. Laurent, however, was acutely aware of every single one, each individual day where he tried to come to grips with the fact that these surroundings, this reprieve, this man that he was sharing them all with were his, something that he might actually get to keep. 

Technically, Laurent had had some vague idea of what things might be like in the time leading up to the week they had stolen for each other, but it had been in the same way a woman expects for a newborn to cry in the months leading up to the birth of her fist child. One could never really know the magnitude of something until they experienced it for themselves.

The bed was simple but large, likely enough to fit up to four people comfortably, but it may as well have been nothing more than a tent bedroll from the way the length of their bodies were pressed together, Damen’s arm thrown across Laurent’s middle. He had been careful when turning over so as not to disturb him too much, though that hadn’t alleviated the rabbit fast way his heart beat against his chest when he came awake to Damen’s fingertips resting on his hip, his mouth pressed against the nape of his neck.

The balcony to their chamber was an open archway, gauze hangings pushed aside so the room was filled with an endless blue view and the aromatic smells of summer. Laurent could feel the sweetness of it wash over him, the fragranced hints of blossom and seawater tinged with the scent of Damen, close enough that Laurent could count each one of his lashes, had he wanted to.

Laurent watched, hazy with the lingering pull of sleep and the new comfort of a sturdy arm around him as his lashes fanned out, fluttering a few times against his cheeks before they came open to reveal brown eyes, soft and bleary.

Their gazes held, Laurent willing his cheeks not to flush from being watched so closely, though that fate seemed impossible when the hold around his midsection tightened, his body tugged forward even closer. Damen closed his eyes again, thought it was with a soft smile tugging at the edges of his lips, his forehead lowering so it was nestled against Laurent’s cheek.

That too was new; the sight of Damen letting laziness win out, to give into sleepy indulgence rather sweep the covers immediately aside and begin his day. Laurent recalled how he had been on bed rest in Ios, not even a stab wound to the stomach or the debilitating side effects being enough to make him want to remain in bed. He remembered the way he would set his cross, fractious stare from the physicians to Laurent, looking between them like they were all conspiring to keep him in bed longer.

Damen was someone who took life in his hands like he could bend it to his own bidding, a sort of confident determinedness and stride that Laurent admired, never shying away in indolence. But now, his palm grazed down the blanket-warmed skin of Laurent’s flank, his breathes soft against Laurent’s shoulder like he might fall back asleep with their legs entwined, and Laurent was grateful for the way his face was hidden so that he could not see the ridiculously blissful look that had to be on his face.

They had no plans for the day, not having decided anything the previous night. They could stay here, like this, all day if they wanted to. The thought was absurd, but it was no more absurd than the way Laurent was consciously trying to will his heartbeat down to a pace that was relatively normal.

“Good morning,” Damen said, the words spoken into the line of his jaw. His voice was husky in the morning, laced in sleep, and Laurent could feel the affects of it run through his chest in tremors, almost like he could feel the hard, rigid press against his thigh.

“It must be,” he replied, the sensation of Damen against him causing another spark of heat to set off in his stomach. He shifted just so, Damen’s grin a slow curve against his shoulder.

Damen’s inhale was deep, purposeful, something of it reminiscent of the way you would take a deep breath when waking up to call on the rest of your senses, but the idea was challenged by the way he buried his face in Laurent’s neck.

“Did you sleep well?” Damen asked, muffled.

“Apparently,” Laurent said, “not as well as you.”

His response was a kiss against his collarbone, brief, and then a second one on the spot below his chin. Laurent experienced each one like a wave of water fully engulfing him, like the pull of a current threatening to pull you in with it.

Damen kissed like he did anything else: steadfast and without reservation, with the same ardency as he did everything. Laurent tried not to feel like one of the marble vases lining the mantels in the room as Damen cradled his face, but it was impossible to be held by Damen and not feel like you could disintegrate from the touch of his hands alone.

One minute became another, Laurent’s fingers finding their way into the disheveled silk of Damen’s curls, and it wasn’t long before Laurent could feel his own similar rousing. That was something else that was different for him. The body’s reaction was natural, uncontrollable, and yet it was something that Laurent had always kept a careful repression on, like a strap pulled down tight. To permit himself this new pleasure of allowing it - of _seeking it out_ – was entirely new, and yet he found that he couldn’t deny himself. Not now, with a collection of fountains and gardens surrounding their haven of privacy, or with a new palace being built, and not with the proof of Damen’s awareness showing from the way the presses of his mouth turned deeper, longer.

He was smiling against Laurent’s mouth, like he still couldn’t quite believe the fact of Laurent’s arousal pressing against his own, even after everything. He pulled away to look at him, and Laurent could see the expression on his face: pleased, a little smug, happy.

“Don’t look so satisfied,” Laurent said.

Damen’s knuckle traced his bottom lip, and it was Laurent who tilted his head forward to continue the kiss, wanting to feel the breathes of air and the touch of Damen’s tongue against his. He parted his lips, welcoming it, anticipating it.

The drift of Damen’s hands was heady in its daring, chilling in a way that it worried Laurent how thrilling it was, how much he wanted it. There were times – especially in those past few days – where he would _want_ so intensely, so unexpectedly, and had no idea how to voice it.

It was somewhat easier with Damen, or at least more than he would have previously expected. Damen was so candid in his pleasure, so guileless, he made everything seem like it was so uncomplicated, like simply wanting something, _someone,_ was enough. 

Laurent didn’t know if it was. But he though, with the quelling sounds of nature outside and the feel of being in Damen’s arms, that maybe it could be.

He knew that there was a half filled vial of oil still on their bedside table, right beside a platter of unfinished fruits. Laurent had been craving something sweet the previous night, a passing comment that he had let slip without thinking of too much, not really meaning anything by it other than a contribution to their mindless, easy chatter. Damen had left their bed without hesitation, only bothering to pull a thin sheet around his lower body before opening their door and having a servant fetch them something from the kitchens. Upon its arrival he had made it clear that no one was to enter their chambers until otherwise notified, and that had resulted in the remnants of tart berries and cream still there for the taking. 

Close proximity or not, it slowly became apparent that Damen had no interest in utilizing the oil, if the unhurried kisses and the gentle caress of his hands were any indication.

“Is this all you plan on doing today?” Laurent asked, not quite breathless, but needing to pull away when the constant sweep of Damen’s lips and tongue became too much. As it was, his mouth felt like it was searing. 

“You say that like it’s a chore,” He replied. He tucked a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear, and he remembered Damen’s words, spoken to him three days prior beneath a white petaled tree with obvious delight.

“It doesn’t provide much-“ he considered his words. “Purpose.”

Damen’s palms were at the small of his back. The tilt of his lips was crooked, a little playful. Laurent could feel it pull at something in his stomach.

“I can think of a few,” Damen said.

The kiss was deep, probing, the implications behind it enough to make Laurent’s cheeks flush with heat. Damen’s tongue traced his lip, and Laurent was struck with the trembling memory of the previous afternoon, on his back with his fingers curled at his sides, Damen’s head bent between his legs. It had been his first time, since Ravenel.

Damen had wanted it, coaxing Laurent with gentle murmurs and touches, a request that was more like an offering. Laurent realized, after little deliberation, that he had wanted it too.

“You want to suck my cock again,” Laurent said, a hand pressed to Damen’s chest. It was that, or a clutch around his neck like an anchor.

The hues in Damen’s eyes were soft, a slight paradox to the rich hum from deep in his throat. 

“Yes.” He kissed the side of his mouth, thumbing at his tailbone. “But that’s not quite what I meant.”

Laurent tried not to frown, especially when Damen’s head was suddenly lowered, his lips tracing some invisible path down the center of his neck, hot and open against his clavicle. He closed his eyes, trying his best to ignore the shudder that threatened to pass through his body, shifting his focus to the press of Damen’s hand. The pads of his fingers were rough; sword calluses and hard work, making his skin feel oversensitive and frail. His lips, soft and full and insistent, the gentlest nosing against the soft skin behind his ear. Laurent drew in a breath, letting it fill his chest with focus as Damen’s fingers lowered, inwards. Slower. His tongue, finding his pulse point. His fingertips-

Laurent’s eyes came open. He could feel his heart moving faster, each physical _thump_ like a throb that pulled him in two directions. His entire face had to be colored, cheeks burning with disbelief and desperate provocation, his mind nearly cracking open form it.

“You want-“ words, he could form them. “Your mouth. There.”

Laurent felt Damen’s nod against his neck. He felt it in his whole body, shaking from it.

“Yes.”

“You-“ _can’t be serious._ He didn’t say it. Of course Damen was serious, he never said anything for no reason.

He’d grown up in Arles. He’d seen such acts before, had heard the pets gossip and their sordid recounts. He knew, of course, that that was something people took pleasure in, one of the many things they sampled, but Laurent had never-

He knew Damen wanted to, that much was apparent from the pools that his eyes created, like dark spices mixed into a vat of honey, and the way his thumb was creating circles just below the dip of Laurent’s back. It was so like him, really, to so strongly crave something that he would benefit virtually nothing from, so long as someone else would.

It wasn’t quite like being fucked, the concept of immersing himself in Damen’s pleasure, which he enjoyed. It was vulnerable in a different way, an admission to himself, a different king of intimacy that he was allowing inside. And while he couldn’t quite ignore the curl of uncertain anxiety that he felt in his gut from it, he also couldn’t ignore the pulse of yearning.

Damen noticed, like he noticed everything. His palm moved up Laurent’s spine like smoothing out a crease, his face pressed into his hair.

“You would enjoy it.” The scrape of stubble tickled Laurent’s neck, like the dew droplets beneath their feet as they walked in the gardens the previous morning. “I want to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Desire coiled, Laurent could feel it to the ends of his toes. He wanted to try this, with Damen. To feel young with him, impulsive.

He _wanted_.

“All right,” he said.

The lift of Damen’s head was rapid, the surprised, eager lift of his brows so expressive that it startled a laugh out of Laurent. The sound of it seemed to surprise Damen just as much, who had tightened his arms around Laurent. “Really?”

“You are the King,” Laurent said. His chest felt light with playfulness, unable to believe that it could be like this in bed. “Who am I to deny you your perversities?”

A finger pressed into his side, equally lighthearted. Laurent knew that if he would press the tip of his pinky against the dimple that had just appeared, it would fit just right.

“I told you,” Damen said, into his ear. “You’re going to like it.”

Laurent felt as he reacted, defenselessly, as if the words has breached his core and were making their way inside him, echoing off his barriers. Damen was moving, leaning back on his heels, and it was a conscious decision that had Laurent turning onto his stomach, one hand falling beside his head.

Laurent couldn’t see Damen, like this, but he could feel him. Damen’s entire disposition was so forceful, so _present,_ Laurent thought he would be able to sense him entering a room with his eyes closed. It was too much, at times, and with everything already firing off in him, he didn’t think he would be able to watch him now. Or be watched, for that matter.

It came as no surprise when Damen busied himself with running his fingers from the back of Laurent’s neck to the curves of his backside, unhurried, like he was sampling the feel of Laurent’s skin against his. He was always one to stretch these things out, as he was beginning to learn, and already Laurent was feeling like he was dangling at the end of a fraying rope.

“For someone who was so intent,” Laurent said, speaking into the crook of his elbow. “You don’t seem to be in any rush.”

He didn’t receive a response. Both of Damen’s hands were on him now, palming him there. The bed creaked, dipping slightly. Laurent could feel his breathes coming back at him, but he was unsure if they were as loud as they seemed to be in his own ears, or if that was just his nerves.

Laurent’s patience was wearing thin. Either that or his desperation, one that was beginning to unnerve him in its intensity. He altered the way his body was arranged, pushing up onto his knees, and he could feel a burning unravel in his stomach when he heard the way Damen’s breathing changed, spreading his legs just enough. 

He could picture the way Damen was looking at him, the same way he had the first time Laurent had worn a chiton, for him. Damen’s eyes seemed to take on a different tint when he was aroused, pleasure seeming to radiate from him, and Laurent could feel the magnitude of it from the way his hands ran up the backs of his thighs, spreading him apart even more. It was exposing, tantalizing, not reduced by the way that Damen still wasn’t talking, nothing to ground Laurent but the close proximity and the touch of his hands. 

Laurent closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself. He was unsure what exactly to expect, what to anticipate from Damen’s intention, but it was certainly not the way his body reacted at the first press of his mouth.

Laurent’s hips surged forward, seeming to react to the startling sensation before his mind could catch up. Damen had given one swipe of his tongue, a hot, wet press, and already Laurent felt breathless, wordless from how unready he was for it.

Pleased with the reaction but naturally radiating a little instinctive control, Damen grabbed a hold of his waist, and that too had Laurent hiding his face away. With his fingers spanned wide at Laurent’s sides, his face unmoving from its spot between Laurent’s thighs, Damen began to apply his mouth in earnest.

It was indecent, and not anything Laurent would ever even entertain, even in the moments between when he had left Damen in Ios and now, when he had allowed himself the sparring indulgences of picturing what his time with Damen was going to be like, how it would be to be _with_ him again. This outcome had been the farthest thing from his mind, but now, with his breathes coming out in gasps and Damen’s fingers bruising into his hips, he couldn’t seem to grasp why.

That wasn’t too surprising. With what Damen’s tongue was doing, Laurent wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t remember where he was.

It was impossible to think of anything else, anything to divert his focus from where Damen’s mouth was. His fingers were angled with the same pressure as before, but they had inched downwards so he was once again spreading him apart, as if he hadn’t been close enough before.

He felt Damen’s tongue trace the line of his rim, circulating him slowly before pressing inside, a slow backwards and forwards that had Laurent clutching at the sheets by his face without much thought, the fabric straining under his cheek. Damen was relentless, pulling his face back just enough so he could press his mouth just below, open and wet on the softest part of his thighs before plunging his tongue back inside.

The scrape of Damen’s facial hair against him was grating, sharp enough that Laurent felt a burst of heat spike up his neck. He knew his own skin, the sensitivity of it. He remembered nights on the road where Damen had undone his outer layers for him, the red marks and welts that the tight pressure of armory had left against him visible between them. He thought of the marks that he would realistically be left with, later. He knew how much Damen would like that.

He imagined the way they must have looked, gauzy awnings falling around them to create the sheer image of Laurent’s hips canted up, thighs spread, Damen’s face in between them. Laurent was panting, that much he was aware of. He felt like a kettle left on a fire for far too long, pulsating, nearly bursting from its over boiled contents. Damen’s flattened tongue made a slow path towards his center before stopping over that same spot, mouthing at him like he did every other part of his body that he loved to dedicate his careful attention to.

A sound slipped out from between Laurent’s open lips, the need to relieve some of the heaviness he felt building up too strong to be stopped. He couldn’t even be sure how it had sounded, he was only aware of it from the sensation of the pillow vibrating against his face with the pressure of it.

Damen heard it as well, as in tuned with Laurent’s pleasure and the way he reacted to it as a painter was with his muse. He made a similar response in kind, though it came out muffled from the way his face was pressed between Laurent’s unsteady legs, the impression of it coursing through Laurent’s body in vibrations and pulling another sound from his slack mouth.

Damen pulled back, and Laurent thought if he had been a bit more far-gone that he would cry out from the loss of contact. As it was he was torn between abandoning all sense of restraint by jutting his hips back or pressing them forward, rutting into the sheets so he could find some form of friction. The lingering remnants of hesitancy felt distant in that moment, all it would take was for Damen to roll him onto his back and give his cock the barest amount of attention for him to find release. 

The mattress shifted again. Damen brushed a hand up the side of his leg, along the swell of his ass, so faint and contrary to what he had just been doing that Laurent had to bite down on his tongue so as not to whimper. 

“You look so good,” Damen said, ghosting his tailbone with a kiss. “Like this.”

Another kiss. Softer, lower, followed by the gentles press of his thumb against Laurent’s hole, wet and swollen, twitching from the contact. Laurent’s hips jerked, and it was followed by the barest press inside.

_”Damen.”_

It was enough. Finally, it seemed to be enough, because Damen gave his back one more caress before lowering himself back down.

Damen was as leisurely with his ministrations as before, but his actions provided a bit more determinedness that he had lacked earlier. He braced his hands on either side of Laurent and pulled his body back into him, either too oblivious or entirely too aware of the way that assertiveness seemed to affect Laurent, and set back to displaying all of his ways to best break Laurent apart with tongue, lips and the faintest amount of teeth.

Clinging was not an option, just like it hadn’t been the first day they had arrived here, when they had fallen into bed together, fresh out of the baths with the painful openness of it still lingering. With the pillow clutched in his grip and his body trembling, Laurent let out one final, helpless groan before he felt that he was shaking everyone, a few seconds of white-hot release blinding him before he was collapsing into his own spend. 

Outside, the birds were still chirping some rhythmic, melodic song. The waves were lapping against some distant shore, an ebbing that Laurent felt could carry him away, misty limbs and all.

Eventually, Laurent turned himself over into his back, when he felt it safe that he’d regained the ability to make use of his body. Damen was still kneeling between his legs, and the sight of his own cock - hard and straining against his stomach - had Laurent feeling like his head was nothing more than a fog.

He extended an arm outwards. “Come here,” he said, with the expectant tone that he knew Damen liked.

Damen’s eyes – dark and hooded, framed by thick lashes - met his, holding them as he moved up the length of Laurent’s body and sprawled out on top of him, and all of that false haughtiness dispensed into nothing when Damen pressed his face into the spot between Laurent’s shoulder and neck, their thighs fitting together.

Laurent closed his arm back around him, his pulse playing a painful drumbeat when he felt the way Damen nuzzled into the embrace. He pushed his fingers into his hair, thickened with sweat, bringing his lips close enough that each word could be felt when he said, “touch yourself.”

He watched, mollified by the weight in his arms and the shift against him when Damen adjusted himself, not hesitating a moment to bring a hand between his legs. His mouth found that same pulse on Laurent’s neck, thrumming beneath his parted lips, and Laurent felt the seconds pass like the pounding charge of a cavalry, each one punctuated by the stroke of Damen’s wrist as he pumped his own cock.

Damen was far more uninhibited than Laurent had been with his pleasure, the squeeze of his fist never letting up as he moved up and down, bringing himself close with the steady, determined way he liked. Laurent watched, entranced, his own breaths still coming short as the image engrained itself in his mind. He knew those hands, the effortless way with which they could take a person apart with minimal force alone, or the slow, careful way they could glide across skin, as tentative as a whispered secret, tracing each curve and outline of Laurent’s body like they were wielded solely to bring Laurent to the edge.

He was panting into Laurent’s shoulder, shameless, Laurent’s neck damp with it. He heard his own name, tangled up in a groan, rippling into a shiver when Laurent raked his fingers through Damen’s hair, his nails scraping against his scalp.

“Yes,” Laurent murmured against his forehead. He was winded from his own daring, like he was standing at the edge of the cliffs of Lentos, coaxing himself to jump to where Damen was waiting for him. “Like that.”

He wanted to feel Damen come apart, to feel like he had returned what he had been given, to someone who deserved the taking. He pressed a kiss to his temple, above his brow, and it was a few more graceless, hurried jerks of his hand before Damen was spilling against them both.

He was boneless after that, spent in the way that he always was after sex, heavy limbs pressing Laurent into the sheets with shallow, labored exhales. He let out a muffled sound, wholly content, inhaling against Laurent’s chest like he had upon waking up. Laurent could feel his release, cooling against his skin.

He nudged the heel of his foot against Damen’s calf. He didn’t know why he did it, but Damen raised his head to look at Laurent and it no longer seemed to matter. His eyes were alight like the wide view outside their window, the lines of his face soft with a lazy smile. 

Fondness was a physical thing, molding inside Laurent’s chest so that he had to breathe around it. Laurent allowed himself the simple pleasure of brushing a stray curl out of Damen’s eye, and the feeling inside him spread when Damen closed his eyes, leaning his cheek into his palm.

A cloud rolled away from the sun, the room brightening a fraction as Laurent closed his own eyes, settling his head back onto the pillow, peaceful and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [ @laurent-ofvere](http://laurent-ofvere.tumblr.com)   
> 


End file.
